Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Widower's Estate

The moon rose and night fell upon my newly founded widower’s estate. I laid there enthralled with my righteous deed, turning like a door on hinges, left, then right, and back left again. If men could only understand, they could not possibly disapprove of my actions for they were admirable and just. They will tell tales of praise of how I freed burdened bodies of their imponderous slumbering soul. I digress, for the pestilent and odious thoughts are of you and now everywhere I look is in search of you. I truly realize your gone this is a bitter pill to swallow. This distinguishing fact has turned to vile poison in my chest. “Oh why dreaded death do you taught me with such pertinacity of a foolish fancy.” This feels like a nightmare I never wanted it to be this way, I was just afraid if you stayed you would hate me. Why such aversion to phantasm, how can we trust everything we see and touch as true. It seems that we can never be avail of our thoughts and emotions. Our darkest night is day for you. The tree raise branches upward like church hands to unforgiving eyes. The dim-lit room had personable quality to it that had confined my movement. As the candle burned it rarefied the rancidness of the room. The fire casted a portentous ash cloud into the air that vanished like dark ominous birds. The candle's fire caught on with curtains like catchy lyrics, and soon the whole room was dancing to the crackling of the fire. The walls began to crumple like an alarm of impending doom, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else I would rather be to watch it all burn away. “Death is not a hunter for the living; simply life is just a journey to the grave.” These words are like cold rags for a feverish head. “Like a needle you always get to the point soon the fire will melt away my sins. May it be so, all I ever wanted was for everyone I know to come and rest.”

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